


super like

by LunaDarkside



Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: M/M, Pining, it's just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27171613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaDarkside/pseuds/LunaDarkside
Summary: Kaito is hired to write a dating profile for Kudou Shinichi. Which is fine, except that Kaito might be in love with him.
Relationships: Kudou Shinichi | Edogawa Conan/Kuroba Kaito | Kaitou Kid
Comments: 50
Kudos: 530





	super like

**Author's Note:**

> okay. so. yes. it's been a minute and i'm VERY sorry. i really have no excuse, aside from quarantine blues and stress.
> 
> admittedly, i'm not super jazzed about how this turned out, as it's quite disjointed from being written over the course of like five months, but i thought i'd try to post something rather than nothing. this fic has the nutritional content of cotton candy, in that it has absolutely no substance and is just fluff. yay?
> 
> title from that super obnoxious feature i seem to recall from my days of using tinder (lmao).
> 
> enjoy? - luna
> 
> edit (11/6/2020): this fic has now been edited, as reflection on the fic made me realize that the original iteration included some (unintentionally) ableist tropes and language. if you read the original version (or even this version) and felt/feel uncomfortable with the choices that i made, i sincerely apologize and will try to do better in the future. it was never my intention to alienate any part of my audience.
> 
> i've done my best to make revisions while keeping the mood of the fic intact, but if you see anything problematic that can be fixed, please let me know!
> 
> \- luna

There are a few things that Kaito believes with his whole being should be legitimately lauded as impressive on resumes. For one, being able to plug in USBs on the first try. For another, knowing how frequently to water a succulent. For a third, getting paid to write people's dating app profiles.

It mostly started when Kaito had the unfortunate experience of stumbling upon Hakuba's profile one innocuous Saturday evening, when he was lying in a decadent sprawl across his couch, getting crumbs all over the cushions and fairly leaking boredom of out his ears. He was swiping through a random dating app he had installed, which he’d made solely because he’d gotten a few good pictures of himself at Disney Sea, when he found it: _Saguru, 21._

 _"What,"_ he said at the hideous angle at which Hakuba had managed to capture his profile picture. There was more of his Inverness cape in it than his actual face, and Kaito suspected it had been taken in an unlit bathroom after a night of heavy drinking, judging how it appeared to be blurry, dark, and grainy all at once. It was not the best photo, especially to post somewhere you hoped to find love (or, failing that, a few stilted conversations and a blowjob). Kaito, as someone who had (and continues to have) the displeasure of being acquainted with Hakuba in real life, _knew_ that he had better pictures, leading to the question of _why_ he would choose that one. Nevertheless, Kaito took great joy in screenshotting the picture and sending it to everyone in his contacts.

( _Why did you send a picture of a man in a petticoat_ , his dentist's office wanted to know. _Also, you're four months overdue for your cleaning. Does September 18th work for you?_ )

Later he confronted Hakuba about it.

"First of all, I thought you were in love with Aoko," is how he started it off. Hakuba, predictably, looked even more constipated than usual.

"In terms of my heart and soul, I am devoted to Nakamori-san," he said with characteristic caginess, straightening his shoulders and bristling as though he were facing down a too-invasive tabloid reporter. "But I also have..." He paused and closed his eyes with the expression of a man admitting some grievous character flaw. " _Needs_."

"I really didn't enjoy hearing that from you, because now I have to try not to picture anything," said Kaito gravely. "Second of all, if you want to have your needs fulfilled, you have to have a picture where you don't look like someone's weird uncle figuring out camera phones for the first time. Especially because I'm pretty sure you should still have that picture I took of you at Tropical Land two years ago, because you actually looked," he swallowed, straining to keep from throwing up, "not... hideous... in that one."

"But that picture was an accurate representation of what I look like," Hakuba pointed out, frowning. "I was just being honest."

"Yeah, but it's a _dating_ _app_ ," said Kaito. He now felt guilty for sending the photo around, in the face of Hakuba's bemused stare. "You're not supposed to look like yourself; you're supposed to look like yourself on your very best day, and maybe with some Photoshop." Feelings of guilt or not, though, he couldn't help but add, "And third of all, my dentist thought your Inverness was a petticoat, which should tell you enough."

Hakuba continued to give him the same look of confused gastrointestinal despair.

So Kaito had taken it upon himself to get Hakuba's profile tweaked to the standards of dating app users. He went so far as to drag him out to a photogenic spot by Beika River and get a few candid shots of him flushed and damp as he wiped the sweat from his face with the hem of his shirt.

"Can you stop chasing me around with a baseball bat," was all Hakuba said about the matter, as if Kaito had a better way to get him attractively sweaty and disheveled.

Anyway, Hakuba got his needs fulfilled, and Aoko happened to see some of the pictures and got a thirsty look in her eye, and the two of them ended up dating a month or so later. Kaito continues to take great joy in reminding them that their happy union is the result of his machinations.

The next time Kaito realized "hey, maybe I can do this for money" was when he happened upon a girl in one of his theater classes who kept complaining about how she couldn't get any matches on her dating profile. The thought of an attractive heterosexual woman unable to get a single match was so intriguing that Kaito wandered over and happened to catch a glimpse of her profile over her shoulder.

"Is that a picture of you getting arrested?" he said, because that was really the only question he could come up with. The picture in question was of wildly low quality and in black and white, as though she had asked a nearby store for CCTV footage and taken a screenshot. In the photo, she was also wearing a denim on denim combination that made Kaito's eyebrows draw together in confusion.

"Yeah, from when this random girl slipped a pair of earrings into my bag and tried to frame me for shoplifting," she said, beaming at him as though proud of him for getting some obscure joke. "I didn't actually get arrested in the end, but still." A slight crease formed between her eyebrows. "Guys like bad girls, right?"

Kaito gently informed her that was not always the case, procured her an outfit modeled directly off a Uniqlo mannequin, and took her out to a cafe with a modern woodsy theme that lent itself well to pictures. He also rewrote her profile, such that it no longer mentioned her love of ferrets in the first line.

"Save the ferrets for the second date," he suggested. She frowned, but agree to eliminate the line in her bio about her eight-story ferret enclosure. When she started officially dating an econ major with a trust fund and a tolerance for small rodents, she took Kaito out for coffee and heaped so much praise on him that Kaito actually felt a bit bashful.

Aoko was the one to suggest the whole operation after a few more times Kaito successfully edited someone's profile into something more classically dateable.

"You know," she said, thoughtful, as Kaito texted one of his magic club colleagues about how disclosing the size of certain appendages, to the hundredths place, was perhaps a bit off-putting, "you should think about charging for all the profile-wrangling you do. Some of these are kind of... heavy duty."

"You're telling me," muttered Kaito as the guy decided Kaito was "jealous" and sent him a photo of the aforementioned appendage. He shut his eyes against the image and wished he didn't have as good a memory as he did. He also thought, with some discomfort, that the guy might need to go to the on-campus clinic for an STD check-up, just to be on the safe side. "I definitely should be getting paid for this."

And now Kaito is known for it across Tokyo University. Anyone who struggles to find their good angle, doesn't know which hobbies to lead with, or just isn't sure where to start: Kaito's their man. He doesn't charge much, although it depends on the state of the profile to begin with. It's kind of fun most of the time, except for when he encounters particularly stubborn people who refuse to listen to him about topics such as the wisdom of posting their home address and including photos of their credit cards (front and back) to prove their wealth. Then Kaito just finds it kind of frustrating.

So at first, Kaito isn't surprised when a girl with a determined look in her eye approaches him when he’s pretending to study at the library (in reality, he’s scrolling through a thread on Twitter about whether people who listen to true crime podcasts are valid).

"So I hear you can write really amazing dating profiles that are guaranteed to get someone a partner," the girl says in an undertone as she sidles up beside him. Kaito blinks. She wears a polite smile, and her eyeshadow is color-coordinated with her sweater and knee-high socks. On the surface, she seems like the kind of person who has the opposite problem from what Kaito usually tries to address, in that she seems more likely to be the target of flirtation, harassment, and obscene photos on most dating apps.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Kaito says, guarded. “Did you need help with your profile?”

“No, I already have a girlfriend,” the girl says, waving a manicured hand, and hikes her bookbag up higher on her shoulder. At the reference desk behind her, one of the librarians is glaring heavy artillery at the back of her head, despite that she’s talking in a near-undetectable undertone. “I’m asking for a friend.”

“Right,” says Kaito in tones of heavy doubt.

“I love him like a brother, and I can tell that he’s lonely. I think it would do him good to find someone, or even a string of someones.” The girl heaves the sigh of someone who has been descending a rope only to find they’ve come to the end of it. “He’s been single for so long I think he’s forgotten how to interact with people who aren’t dead.”

“What?” Kaito says, thrown off track. The girl gives him an assessing look.

“Have you heard of Kudou Shinichi?”

* * *

Kaito has, in fact, heard of Kudou Shinichi. He’s the star student of the criminology department, hotter than several suns, and frequently featured in the news as the savior of the Tokyo police force. He also drives a sleek black sportscar purchased for him by his ex-actress mother and bestselling author father and has appeared in several TV dramas as an extra due to his status as a quasi-celebrity. (Kaito has searched up Kudou Shinichi acting compilations on YouTube; they’re adorably awkward.) Kaito is pretty sure that half of the student body is madly in love with him while the other half is sort of dreamily admiring. Honestly, he’s not sure which half he belongs to.

The sight of Kudou Shinichi ducking into the dilapidated little café beside the humanities building, looking flustered as he comes through the door and nearly knocks over a stand filled with boxes of teabags, is just about enough to tip Kaito over into the first category. As if that wasn’t enough, there’s also the way Kudou Shinichi flushes pink to his ears when he looks up and realizes Kaito witnessed the whole thing.

Taking pity on him, Kaito stands and gestures him over with his friendliest smile.

“Hi, sorry,” Kudou Shinichi says, approaching Kaito’s table with the expression of someone who has been told that they are being led into a room that’s either full of scorpions or full of puppies: fearful apprehension mixed with hopefulness. “You’re Kuroba Kaito.” He casts a quick look down at his phone, which is encased in a sleeve printed with little bowties. “Ran said that I was supposed to meet you here?”

“That’s me,” Kaito says, and does his usual flower trick. For Shinichi, he breaks out a pink chrysanthemum. Shinichi takes it with a surprised smile, examining it from every angle with a furrowed brow, as though trying to figure out how Kaito did it.

“That’s a nice trick,” he says, and then looks at Kaito through his eyelashes as he inspects one side of the bloom. His gaze is piercing. Kaito’s heart makes a bid to squirm out of his ribcage. He can feel himself listing forward slightly as he tries to inhale more of the air around Shinichi’s person, which smells like oranges and hot guy. Prior to this precise moment, Kaito did not realize how much of a creep he had the capacity to be.

“And you’re Kudou Shinichi, of course,” he says, in lieu of “Can I touch your hair?” or any other line that sounds as though it should be associated with serial killers.

“So you know who I am?” Shinichi asks, sinking down into the seat across from Kaito and setting the flower down on the sticky tabletop. He says it without a trace of “I’m rich and famous and very, very attractive” arrogance; it comes out factual, the way someone might recite the atomic weight of hydrogen.

“Yeah, it’s kind of hard not to,” Kaito says. Up close, Shinichi’s eyelashes are so long that Kaito keeps getting distracted looking at them. _God spent extra time on him_ , he catches himself thinking before he experiences a moment of self-awareness and forces himself to stop and adopt a neutral, professional smile. “So I hear you need help with writing your dating profile.”

Shinichi’s expression freezes. He looks a bit like a deer in the headlights who’s just been asked to compute a difficult Riemann sum.

“Oh.” He blinks, then looks down into his lap. “This is… about dating profiles?”

“Yes,” says Kaito slowly. “Mouri-san said that you don’t have a profile yet, so we’ll be building one from the ground up. We’ll get some flattering pictures of you, and then I’ll write up a bio.” When Shinichi still doesn’t meet his eyes, he adds, curious, “What else could it have been about?”

“Nothing,” Shinichi says a beat too quickly to be plausible. “Or the weather. A sport… team. The economic landscape in the wake of the latest election and the lingering effects of the American occupation in the 40s and early 50s.”

Kaito stares.

“Sorry, I just came from a political science elective,” says Shinichi, and blushes like the cutest Disney princess Kaito has ever seen. “Uh, so where should we start on my profile?”

“ _Well_ ,” says Kaito.

* * *

The first thing Kaito does is invite Shinichi out to a cat café in Shibuya. He instructs Shinichi to get a good night’s sleep, dress nicely, style his hair, and practice his smile. Shinichi shows up wearing a Sherlock Holmes t-shirt and sweatpants with a hole in one knee, circles under his eyes, and a head full of cowlicks. His hesitant smile, though, when he sees Kaito, is adorable.

“I’m glad I came prepared,” Kaito says when Shinichi jogs to a stop in front of him. He waves a hand up and down Shinichi’s person and gives him a friendly smile. “This is what you give me to work with?”

“I’m so sorry,” Shinichi says, flushing. “I got called out to solve a case last night and didn’t get home until a few hours ago. And I almost overslept.”

“We could have rescheduled,” Kaito points out as he slings his backpack off his shoulders and begins to dig around for the appropriate props. A passing woman goggles when he pulls out a pair of fishnet tights.

“I don’t have your number,” says Shinichi.

“Well, I’ll give you my LINE username when we’re done here,” Kaito says absently, holding up a denim baseball cap beside Shinichi’s head. Shinichi blinks at him, like a dog encountering snow for the first time. “Yeah, that looks good.”

The first ten minutes of the cat café visit go well. Shinichi—now wearing a cap to hide the crime scene masquerading as his hair, a pair of clear-lensed glasses to distract from his undereye circles, and a loose overshirt over the Sherlock top—seems to have some kind of animal magnetism that attracts all the cats and also their waitress. (She runs her hand down his arm when she takes their order. Shinichi looks bewildered and asks Kaito if there had been something on his sleeve, once she’s out of earshot.)

Kaito actually gets some good shots at first. He even gets a great candid where one of the smaller cats perches on top of Shinichi’s head and two of her friends sprawl across his shoulders, while Shinichi smiles and pets a calico in his lap.

The problem arises when Shinichi breaks out in hives. Kaito thinks he’s seeing things until he takes a picture, stares at it for a second, and then compares it to one he took when they first got there. In the earlier one, Shinichi looks hot. In the more recent one, Shinichi still looks hot, but also a bit as though he’s attached a bike pump to one of his ears and inflated his face.

“Hey, uh, Kudou,” Kaito says, lowering his phone, “are you, by any chance, allergic to cats?”

“Apparently,” wheezes Shinichi before he makes a clawing motion at his throat, as though it’s begun to close up.

The rest of the afternoon is spent languishing in the ER waiting room at Beika General Hospital. The worst of the symptoms seem to be fading, although Shinichi still looks a bit as if he’s lost a fight with some very determined bees. Kaito’s phone ran out of battery somewhere in the middle of the panic of getting Shinichi into the taxi to the ER, so he’s stuck flipping through an outdated copy of some fashion magazine left in the waiting room.

“Is tulle still in?” he wonders aloud when he happens upon a spread of Okino Yoko fairly swaddled in the stuff. Shinichi cranes his neck to get a good look at it, then scrunches up his nose. Kaito gets to the last page, which informs him that based on his star sign, he should be wearing more lilac. He shows it to Shinichi.

“You think lilac’s my color?” he asks, doubtful.

“I think you could make it work,” says Shinichi, then goes a bit pink, as though his mouth overtook his brain without his consent, and shakes himself like a dog trying to rid itself of a flea. “By the way, I’m sorry I ruined our plans. I had no idea that I was that allergic to cats. Usually I’ll just get a runny nose or something if I’m around one for a long time.”

“No, I shouldn’t have risked it. We could’ve gone to a normal café and gotten some good pictures there instead,” Kaito says. He feels kind of guilty about the whole thing, even if Shinichi _is_ rocking the puffed-up look. Shinichi gives him a reassuring smile.

“It’s okay,” he says, then, frowning down at the magazine still lying open across Kaito’s lap, “wait, does that say I should embrace my sexuality and wear tighter clothes?”

“I think you should,” Kaito agrees, sage. “In the most respectful way possible, that is. I’m talking Spandex. Maybe Lycra.”

Shinichi goes even redder than he did when he sneezed eighteen times in a row on the way out of the cat café, and sinks down in his seat. It is, objectively, adorable, and also a sign that Kaito is already in too deep.

* * *

Kaito sends him a LINE message a few days later, while he’s eating lunch with Aoko and Hakuba (and trying not to notice how Hakuba keeps bumping his foot against Kaito’s). _how r u feelin?_

 _Better_ , Shinichi replies within a minute. _I can breathe through my nose now, and people have stopped taking one look at my face and spinning out of the way when I’m hurrying to catch my train._

 _aww i bet theyre just flustered,_ Kaito replies. _bc ure a cutie pie! :)._

There’s a longer pause now. Kaito can picture Shinichi trying to craft a response. _No, I think they thought I had a contagious skin disease._

 _hmm okkkkkkkkkk,_ Kaito sends back. _when r u free?? we can meet sometime to talk abt more stuff._

_I’m free right now if you are? I just finished my political science elective for the day. I’m at the café._

_sounds good!!!! i'll be there in a sec!!!!!_

_Now that would be impressive._

“Why are you making that gross face?” says Hakuba, scooting his chair away, which is some lofty behavior from a man who had a pseudointellectual Hemingway quote in his dating profile until Kaito made him take it out. Kaito uncurls his mouth to give him a look as he scoops the remains of his lunch (a rice ball and a pudding cup) into his bag.

“I’m meeting with Kudou Shinichi,” he says. Hakuba inhales too quickly and chokes. Aoko makes a high-pitched noise reminiscent of steam exiting a kettle with extreme urgency.

“Kudou Shinichi? He’s so cool!” she says. Hakuba, hacking into a napkin with concussive force, gives her a look of pure betrayal that she ignores in favor of getting all up in Kaito’s face. “Tell him I loved him in _Tropical Bloodlust: The Movie_! He looked so dreamy with the earring and the frosted tips.”

“Right,” says Kaito, who has no intention of doing anything of the sort. He disentangles himself from her grip—when did she get her hands in his shirt?—and levers himself up and out of his seat. As he leaves, he hears Hakuba go, “Wait, was I trying to play footsie with _him_ this whole time?” which is such a horrifying sentence that he immediately scrubs it from his brain.

Shinichi is waiting when Kaito turns up at the café (admittedly, he takes longer than a second to get there). Kaito comes through the front door and has to stop when he sees him. He’s bent over a notebook and two open textbooks. He’s also wearing a knit turtleneck, the sleeves absentmindedly pulled down over his palms. He’s working the material between his thumbs and forefingers as he frowns down at his notebook. Something about the scene is cozy and intimate enough that Kaito has his phone out and gets a few candid shots before Shinichi looks up and catches him. At least he looks confused rather than disturbed.

“Something about the turtleneck really works,” Kaito explains when he reaches the table, flashing one of the pictures he took. Shinichi blinks and looks down at himself, as though just now realizing that he has a corporeal body that he puts clothes on.

“Oh,” he says. “Ran gave this to me a few Christmases ago. I’m only wearing it because I forgot to do the laundry.”

“Well, it’s working,” Kaito says, then adds, “Sometimes the more you cover up, the more people want to unwrap you,” just to see Shinichi’s blush disappear down into the turtleneck. Shinichi squints at him like a skeptical cat.

“Do you always embarrass your clients this much?” he asks, which is the verbal equivalent of upending a bucket of water over Kaito’s head. Right. _Right_. He’s providing Shinichi with a service that’s intended to end with Shinichi hooking up with someone, or even several someones, none of whom will be Kaito himself. He sits up and clears his throat.

“Right, of course,” he says, donning his most professional demeanor. It involves pushing his hair back off his forehead and folding his hands on the table in front of him like an elementary school principal. He picks up his phone to take notes and gives Shinichi an expectant look. “So today is just going to be about getting some information to fill the summary part of your profile. What would you say your passions are?”

“Murder,” Shinichi says after a moment of deliberation, then seems to realize what he’s said and looks apologetic. Kaito gives him a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, I’ve heard worse,” he says, typing it into his notes, and then, at Shinichi’s silent question, adds, “Some people like to be very upfront about their likes in the bedroom.”

Shinichi opens his mouth as though he wants to ask, pauses, and closes it.

“Tickling,” Kaito tells him, even though he didn’t ask. Shinichi’s face goes through several permutations of polite discomfort before settling on something that makes him look as though he’s trying to hold back a sneeze.

“Anyway,” he says. “I like murder, _Detective Samonji_ , Sherlock Holmes, playing the violin, and soccer.”

“Tokyo Spirits or Big Osaka?” Kaito asks. Shinichi levels a stare of pure disdain at him.

“Spirits.”

“Really? I think Big Osaka has better defense. They’re in a better position to win the cup,” says Kaito. He knows maybe three things about soccer—one of which is that Akagi Hideo is hot—but the expression on Shinichi’s face is something of even more beauty than usual, at least until he seems to catch on that Kaito is messing with him. Then it turns to this distrustful pout that’s more cute than anything.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you,” Shinichi says, crossing his arms over his chest as he frowns. Kaito bats his eyelashes at him.

“I think I’m adorable, actually.”

Shinichi has no response to this, other than to look strongly disappointed in every environmental and genetic factor that has contributed to Kaito’s development as a person.

“Okay,” Kaito begins, switching tactics. “What’s something cute that I can put in here to make you seem more human?”

“I like whipped cream in my coffee?” Shinichi offers, dubious. “I woke up with a really old Kuraki Mai song stuck in my head this morning? I wanted to be a chinchilla when I was younger because they apparently can only take dust baths and I hated baths at the time?”

Kaito jots these tidbits down after a moment of requisite cooing at the cuteness of it. Shinichi appears to be trying to retreat into his turtleneck like an actual turtle, and his ears are bright red by the time Kaito’s done.

“Those are all adorable,” Kaito says after he finishes typing, sitting back with a satisfied sigh. Murder and chinchillas. Shinichi is, in essence, the perfect man. “Anything else?” Shinichi squints at him. Kaito imagines he has the same expression when confronting someone who claims that no, they didn’t murder their embezzling business partner, but they were alone and asleep at the time of the murder and it’s too bad that nobody can verify their alibi but they definitely weren’t the one who planted a meat cleaver in the man’s frontal lobe.

“Are you going to make fun of me for whatever I say?”

Kaito adopts his most angelic expression and waits.

“I cried when I got my ears pierced?” Shinichi tries after a minute, his face scrunched up. “It didn’t actually hurt, but I was still freaked out for some reason.”

“Was that when you were on _Tropical Bloodlust: The Movie_?” Kaito says, because despite earlier predictions, apparently he _is_ going to bring it up.

“Oh no,” says Shinichi, looking at him with dawning horror. “Did you see it? Please tell me you didn’t watch the part where I stripped down to my underwear and tried to kill the lead actor. The director told me it was supposed to be symbolic of how sex and violence are glorified in the media, but I think it was just to get me half-naked in front of a camera.”

“No, but my best friend told me to tell you that she loved you in the movie. So I guess this is me passing on her compliments,” Kaito says, instead of addressing any other part of the utterance. He also wonders where he can find a copy of _Tropical Bloodlust: The Movie._

Shinichi’s eyebrows jump.

“You talk to your friends about me?”

What is the socially appropriate response to that question, Kaito wonders. He settles for giving Shinichi his most mischievous smile and sing-songing, “May- _be_.” Shinichi smiles, looking almost—Kaito pauses to consider. Is it egotistical to think that he looks pleasantly surprised? Relieved?

“So I’m not the only one,” he says, which seems to make limited sense in context. Kaito isn’t sure why Shinichi would talk about himself to Kaito’s friends.

It’s only a lot later, when Kaito is staring creepily at the pictures he took of Shinichi in the turtleneck (and is definitely not zooming in on the curve of Shinichi’s lower lip like some kind of depraved lunatic), that he realizes it’s possible Shinichi meant that Shinichi talks to his own friends about Kaito. The thought is so heart-stopping that Kaito has to drink a glass of water and go lie down in a well-ventilated room.

* * *

Kaito comes to the unfortunate conclusion that he’s going to have to cross “cooking” off of Shinichi’s potential list of talents. He does get a very nice shot of Shinichi wearing an apron with a bear on it, looking disgruntled at the burnt remains of one of Kaito’s pans, though.

“I told you I couldn’t cook,” says Shinichi, grumpy.

“And I should’ve listened,” Kaito soothes. “It’s too bad, though,” he adds as he helps Shinichi scrub at the mess, both on the cookware and the stove. Shinichi has a real talent for ruining kitchenware. “Being a good cook can really elevate your profile, you know. People like food, and they like food made by a hot guy even more.” Shinichi side-eyes him and squirts more dish soap onto his sponge. He’s got a shred of onion in his hair, which Kaito plans to leave there as long as he can.

“Is that your opinion as a love expert?” he says. Kaito wrinkles his nose and shuts off the tap, shaking his hands dry and splattering Shinichi with water droplets, from the squinched face he makes at Kaito.

“Love expert?” he says.

“Well, yeah,” Shinichi says, as though he hasn’t just said something blatantly ridiculous. “That’s what everyone on campus says you are. Supposedly you’re this really smooth, really cool guy who knows how to capture anyone's good side. Although some people apparently ask for your help to try to get with you.” There’s a pink flush rising above the collar of his partly unbuttoned shirt. Kaito checks that the stove is off and finds that it is.

“Right, right,” he says. “Nobody does that. I’m pretty sure I’m just known as the weird guy who likes putting people’s dating profiles together.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you have a school-sanctioned fan club,” Shinichi says. “They’re called the ‘Kuroba Kaito Protection Squad.’” He clears his throat. “Or something like that. I really wouldn’t know. Why would I know?”

“Aw, are you a member?” Kaito asks, grinning. Shinichi is adorable when he glares. He’s like an annoyed cat: visibly annoyed, potentially dangerous, but so cute that Kaito has to reach out and ruffle his hair (careful not to dislodge the onion bit).

“Anyway,” Kaito continues, picking up his phone and opening a delivery app once he’s pulled his hand free of Shinichi’s devastatingly soft hair, “I’m sure it’s just a joke. I really just like helping people out. You know, helping them see the best of themselves and get the confidence to date. A lot of the time, it's not that there's anything wrong with them or that they're unlovable; it's just that the superficiality of the whole dating app system can be hard to navigate if you're not in the know.” That makes Shinichi’s frown morph into a small, almost impressed smile, which makes something squirm in Kaito’s chest. He coughs. “What do you want to order in, since the cooking didn’t happen?” At Shinichi’s look of surprise, he shrugs. “We might as well. It’s getting late, and you haven’t eaten yet, right?”

They get pizza from a place down the street. They also watch the first four episodes of _Detective Samonji_ , once Shinichi finds out Kaito hasn’t seen it, and sit together on Kaito’s squashy secondhand couch, which is small enough to necessitate sitting with their thighs pressed together lengthwise. (Kaito thanks the couch for its wingmanning abilities.) Kaito ends up listening to a twenty-minute rant Shinichi goes on about the validity of the book-to-adaptation differences, and tosses in the coldest takes he can just to see the way Shinichi goes all pissed-off-cat on him again.

When Shinichi goes to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water—apparently Kaito’s baseless assertion that the adaptation’s treatment of a character was superior to the book’s was enough that he needed to go cool off—Kaito takes a moment to bask in the whole experience. He has Kudou Shinichi in his apartment, beside his bookshelf full of old textbooks and his little figurines of Arsene Lupin, fitting in as though he belongs here. Things are good.

“Why didn’t you tell me there was a piece of onion in my hair?” Shinichi demands as he emerges from the bathroom, sounding as though he’s just discovered that Kaito has been withholding the cure for cancer from the world. Kaito grins.

Things are _very_ good.

* * *

Kaito calls Shinichi several days later, sitting on a bench outside of the theater building after a magic club meeting. Shinichi picks up on the fourth ring.

“Hello?” he says, sounding out of breath. Kaito indulges himself in a few moments of fantasizing about what might led to the breathlessness.

“Hey, Kudou. It’s Kuroba Kaito.”

“Oh, Kuroba.” Shinichi sounds pleased, like someone who just opened a long-shut drawer to find it full of gold coins and rare stamps. Kaito basks in the feeling. “I was just wondering when you would call. What’s up?”

“What are your thoughts on skiing?”

As it turns out, Shinichi is pro-skiing, which bodes well for Kaito, the upcoming long weekend, and the two free tickets he received for a ski resort about two hours’ train ride away. Shinichi is recounting a past skiing experience when Kaito realizes he’s drooling at the thought of Shinichi in ski gear with his cheeks rosy from the cold and his breath puffing out in front of him.

“Yeah, I just thought it might make for a good photo op,” he says, wiping his sleeve across his mouth and ignoring the look he’s getting from a passing girl wearing a giant pair of Beats. “To add some variety to the profile, you know?”

“Makes sense,” Shinichi agrees after a second’s pause. They hash out the details in the next few minutes before Kaito finally says, “I’ll let you get back to what you were doing,” even though he kind of wants to keep Shinichi on the phone and just listen to him talk about the time he saw someone wearing a giraffe suit while skiing in Hokkaido.

“Oh, that’s right,” Shinichi says, sounding startled. “I was in the middle of explaining my reasoning behind why the butler killed the cook with an icepick.” He makes a panicked noise. “Everyone’s waiting for me. Sorry, Kuroba, I have to go.”

“Why did you even pick up?” says Kaito, bewildered, but Shinichi has already hung up.

They meet at the train station a few days later. Shinichi, who’s wearing a cable-knit sweater and a beanie with cat ears attached, is carrying a duffel bag patterned with rabbits. Kaito wants to cuddle him for the rest of time, but he settles for waving and offering him a friendly smile.

“Good to see you again, Kudou,” he says. “Do you want to grab anything before we catch our train? Snacks or something?”

“Oh… uh, Ran actually made us cookies,” Shinichi tells him, flushing for a reason that is only made clear when he pulls out a little cellophane bag full of cookies cut into heart shapes and the word “LOVE!!!” Attached to the bag is a picture of their faces photoshopped together. When Kaito meets Shinichi’s eyes, Shinichi has a panicked gleam in his eye that suggests he’s considering hurling the bag into the train tracks and making a break for it.

“I’ll just put them away,” he says, dodging Kaito’s gaze with the skill of a practiced introvert.

“They look good,” Kaito says, his voice faint over the sound of his heart speeding up, and reaches out to take one. It tastes like cinnamon and is maybe the best cookie he’s ever tasted. “Mouri-san is a good chef.”

“I’ll pass along your compliments,” Shinichi says, shoving the cookies back into his bag.

They get on the train. Kaito eyes Shinichi.

“What are your thoughts on fish?” he asks.

Shinichi, for all his perfection, proves to be hard to convince of the inherent evil of certain forms of aquatic life. He’s arguing earnestly about oceanic biodiversity and the role of fish in the marine ecosystem when the train comes to their stop. Kaito has to tow him out of the train by the sleeve, and Shinichi doesn’t seem to notice they’ve gotten to their destination until they come up to the resort entrance. He interrupts his own train of thought (some tangent about overfishing and the tragedy of the commons?) to say, “So the place we’re staying is called ‘Love Nest Resort’?”

Kaito pulls up short so quickly he almost slips on a bit of ice.

“Uh,” he says. When he hazards a look over at Shinichi, he finds that Shinichi is already looking at him. The expression he’s wearing is written in a language that Kaito is only partially versed in: something like surprise and expectation, maybe? Kaito fumbles. “I didn’t realize that was what it’s called, but if you don’t mind, then I don’t mind.” The softness that overtakes Shinichi’s eyes is enough to fill Kaito’s stomach with butterflies and bees and other hoppy, excited winged animals.

The feeling lasts until they go inside. The walls are papered with Xeroxed photos of kittens, a single withered houseplant cowers in one corner beside an old beer crate filled with old flyers, and the carpet is a matted-down, uninspiring greige. The woman behind the counter looks up from her phone when she sees them, giving them an annoyed look and putting down her phone with a huff, as if irritated that they’re… making her do her job?

“Maybe I do mind, actually,” mutters Shinichi.

“Sorry for interrupting your… interrupting you,” Kaito says when they get close enough that he can see the woman’s phone screen. Apparently they’ve taken her away from leaving a series of hate comments on a video titled “My Mental Health Journey.” “I have a reservation under Kuroba.”

“Hm,” the woman says, unimpressed. She pops her gum and maintains uncomfortable eye contact as she types something into the computer in front of her. “Your room is room 103, down the hall to your left.” A moment later, the corded phone beside her rings and she picks it up with a bored, “Love Nest Resort, how may I help you? Oh, Mari-san. No, Yuu-chan isn’t in. He hasn’t come in yet. Ha, are you jealous, Mari-san? There’s nothing wrong with me calling him Yuu-chan, even if he’s your husband. Maybe you should ask him if _you_ can call him Yuu-chan. Yeah, sure, I’ll let you know if I see him. Well, maybe after I’m done calling him ‘Yuu-chan’ a few times, if you know what I mean.”

She hangs up with a flourish. Kaito realizes after a second that he and Shinichi have both taken two steps away from the desk.

“Here are your keys,” the woman says, tossing a set of scratched-up plastic key cards across the table at them. She picks up her phone once more. Apparently the conversation is over.

“Thanks,” Shinichi says, because he seems to have been raised with more manners and less spite than Kaito was. The woman doesn’t acknowledge that he’s spoken.

“I’m about ninety percent sure there’s going to be a murder while we’re here,” Kaito says in hushed tones as they hurry towards their room. Shinichi gives a sad nod.

“I’m at about a hundred percent,” he says as they reach the room labeled _103_ and Kaito starts to unlock the door. “Historically, I seem to attract danger.”

“Oh, so you like bad boys, then?” Kaito’s mouth says before his brain can catch up. His eye also decides to betray him by tossing Shinichi a wink. Shinichi opens his mouth, his brow slightly furrowed, but they’re saved by Kaito opening the door. The sight that awaits them—peeling magenta paint on the walls and a threadbare carpet with several suspicious stains on them—is enough to shut them up. At least until Kaito goes a little further in and makes the discovery that there’s only one queen-sized bed, outfitted in horrendously yellow sheets.

They share a look.

“I don’t mind if you don’t mind?” Shinichi says after a moment, smiling with a soft, shy edge.

The winged animals make a reappearance in Kaito’s stomach.

* * *

Hakuba and Aoko stage an intervention when Kaito gets back from the ski trip. He doesn’t even realize it’s an intervention, actually, which is telling: common sense and his general wariness when it comes to Hakuba must have vacated his brain to make more room for Shinichi-related musings and fantasies. Also, they start the intervention by taking him out to a pop-up Rilakkuma character café, so it’s not as though the intent was entirely obvious.

Kaito is watching Aoko stick a spoon into a ball of rice shaped like the white bear (Korilakkuma?) when it begins.

“I should bring Kudou here,” he says, sighing a little at the thought. He would make Shinichi take a picture with the giant cutout of Rilakkuma by the front entrance, and Shinichi would do it without complaining, but he would have a confused wrinkle between his eyebrows as he did, which would make the whole thing even cuter.

“About Kudou-kun,” Aoko begins, putting down her spoon. The silence that follows is so pointed that Kaito looks up from the plate to find both Aoko and Hakuba looking at him with twin expressions of solemnity. He blinks.

“What about Kudou?” he says when neither says anything.

“First of all, I now know way too much about him,” says Hakuba. “Like how he steals blankets during the night and likes to sing Kuraki Mai in the shower. I’ve also seen too many pictures of him now. I really don’t need to see Kudou-kun’s face from every conceivable angle.”

“That’s not true, I only showed you the skiing ones and the ones where he was asleep on the train,” Kaito says, affronted.

“It’s also the fact that you showed me those pictures instead of mentioning the much more shocking and interesting thing that happened on your little ski trip, which was that the _inn owner was murdered by his wife and his mistress who turned out to be secret lovers_ ,” Hakuba points out. Kaito frowns.

“Oh, you wanted to hear about that part? I guess can show you the pictures I took of Shinichi bent over the body? He does look pretty good in them. He’s wearing a turtleneck and everything,” he offers, unsure if it helps or hurts his case.

Hakuba closes his eyes. He seems to be muttering something that sounds like a prayer.

“That’s the point, Kaito,” Aoko cuts in, with the grace of a seasoned debate moderator. She steeples her fingers in front of her and angles him an I Am an Adult Who Is Concerned About You look. Kaito is familiar with the look; it made many an appearance throughout his childhood. “You seem to be—very _interested_ in Kudou-kun.”

“Yeah, he’s interesting,” Kaito agrees. He senses it’s not a good time to mention that last night he fell asleep staring at a picture of Shinichi in a turtleneck on his phone. Something about Shinichi and turtlenecks, presented in conjunction, sets off some primal part of Kaito’s brain.

“You keep taking him out on these excursions that—well—seem like… dates,” Aoko adds.

“Yeah, to get good pictures of him,” Kaito agrees. “It’s not that weird.”

“Kaito, you went away for a ski trip at a supposedly romantic inn, where you shared a bed,” Aoko points out.

“Yeah,” Kaito says with a dreamy sigh.

Aoko and Hakuba exchange a Why Is This Happening to Us look. Again, Kaito recognizes it from his childhood—actually, much of his adult life as well. Aoko clears her throat, delicate.

“The point is that you’re supposed to be helping him come up with a dating profile so he can _date other people_ , Kaito. So being interested in him isn’t a good idea,” she says, so gentle it stings all the more. Kaito stares at her for a long moment, her meaning sinking in, before he stabs his fork into his spaghetti carbonara, knocking over the little cardboard cutout of the yellow bird thing that was stuck between the strands of noodle.

“I know,” he says, and shoves a mouthful of spaghetti into his mouth, chewing with more vigor than necessary and avoiding their eyes. Swallowing is hard, with the lump that’s already lodged in his throat, but he manages.

“Kaito—” Aoko begins, sounding worried, but Hakuba stops her with a hand on her arm.

“I think that’s enough,” he says, and the carefully concealed pity in his voice is almost worse than the surge of gratitude Kaito feels.

* * *

At heart, Kaito likes to think he’s a pretty good guy, even if he doesn’t always separate his trash perfectly and has occasionally been known to turn without using his turn signal if there’s nobody else at the intersection. So after getting _that_ wakeup call, he decides he’s going to be the mature adult for once in his life and just—do what he’s been hired to do. Finish Shinichi’s dating profile and move on. Aoko gives him a complicated expression when he tells her about his plan: part pride at his resolve, and part disbelief at the idea that Kaito could be mature.

Putting together Shinichi’s profile is the emotional equivalent of prodding at a sore tooth with your tongue. Kaito can’t deny that he has a good time going through the pictures he has of Shinichi—he even found one that he forgot he took, of Shinichi looking down at the selection of Haagen-Dazs flavors in a convenience store with the expression of someone trying to decode an ancient Sumerian tablet. But at the same time, it keeps hitting him that he’s not going to be able to drag Shinichi out on pseudo-dates, now, because technically his job will be done and they won’t really have a reason to hang out.

Even his favorite picture of Shinichi in a navy turtleneck isn’t enough to lift his mood.

Shinichi turns out to be available the next day, so Kaito steels himself and asks him to meet him by one of the humanities buildings around early evening. Shinichi shows up in a pea coat and a scarf so fluffy it hides the bottom half of his face, which is almost enough to break Kaito’s resolve. However, the thought of having to face Aoko and Hakuba’s therapist routine again is enough to set him straight.

“Hi, Kuroba,” Shinichi says once they’re within earshot of each other, smiling at him over the upper edge of his scarf.

“Hi,” Kaito says faintly. He thinks Shinichi might have changed shampoos; he smells fruity and sweet. He forces himself not to lean forward or inhale deeply, lest his resolve melt away like sugar in hot coffee. “So I wanted to let you know that I actually finished writing your profile last night.” The last quarter or so of it had been completed with the assistance of half a bottle of wine. Kaito has been too much of a coward to go reread whatever sappy, maudlin nonsense he wrote, so he hopes it was at least somewhat coherent.

Shinichi’s expression freezes for a second.

“Oh,” he says after a minute, looking down at his feet as though his shoes have suddenly become much more interesting since he last saw them. “Um, that’s awesome. Thanks.” He clears his throat and meets Kaito’s eyes. “I can pay you now, if you want.” There is a distinct lack of the gleam in his eye that Kaito has come to expect.

Kaito feels a bit wrongfooted, as though he’s just stepped off a treadmill he hadn’t been aware of walking on.

“You don’t have to,” he says woodenly. “I can—we can take care of that later, if you want.” Right now, he kind of just wants to escape this situation and maybe go lie facedown on his bed for a few hours. Clearing his throat, he fumbles into his own pocket to extract his phone. “I’ll text it to you now. You can just upload the photos that I chose and copy and paste the text part into your profile, when you make the account. Okay?”

“Okay,” echoes Shinichi. It’s an awkward few moments as Kaito navigates through his phone to assemble the message, wishing he’d had the forethought to do it beforehand as he attaches the photos he chose and the text file that he wrote the bio in. Shinichi begins to clear his throat, then seems to hesitate in the middle and ends it on a weak cough. Somewhere in the distance, someone laughs loudly, as though enjoying their misfortune. Overhead, a bird offers a laryngeal croak.

“I sent it,” Kaito says the second he’s hit the SEND button. He watches the message status change from “Sending” to “Sent” and shoves his phone back in his pocket. Shinichi is looking at him with his eyebrows drawn, his mouth twisted downwards. He looks—disappointed, is the only word that comes to mind.

“Okay,” he says again, quieter this time. “Is this—is this it, then?”

“I think so,” Kaito agrees. “Uh—see you around?”

“I guess so,” Shinichi says. He manages a half-smile, which is more than Kaito can seem to muster. “Thanks for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Thanks for everything _you’ve_ done for _me_ ,” Kaito replies. It doesn’t really make sense, in the context of Kaito being hired by Shinichi, but Shinichi seems to understand anyway, ducking his head to hide how his smile goes—wistful? Kaito suspects he may be projecting.

“Well,” Shinichi says. “Um. Don’t get murdered, or I’ll have to solve your case?”

“But what if that’s the only way I’ll ever see you again?” Kaito says like an idiot before he clamps his mouth shut. “Never mind. Uh, bye, Kudou.”

“Bye,” echoes Shinichi. Kaito thinks it’s very unfair of Shinichi to look after him with that expression. It feels as though he’s leaving behind a heartbroken puppy like some kind of irresponsible… father… dog. He tugs his jacket tighter around him, trying not to shiver as he hurries away. It feels colder than it did when he first got there, and he’s not sure how much of it is psychosomatic and how much is the burgeoning night chill.

Kaito is about five minutes from his apartment, trying to decide the upper limit of beers that he could probably down tonight without too many consequences tomorrow, when he hears footsteps behind him. Great. Getting mugged _would_ happen tonight of all nights. He reaches into his bag for his pepper spray, slows underneath a streetlamp, and whips around, can lifted and spray already deployed.

Shinichi—because that’s apparently who’s been following him (???)—dodges just in time, with this slinky, practiced movement that has Kaito’s mouth dropping open. He also manages to knock the can out of Kaito’s hand with some kind of magical disarming detective move, which is hot but also worrying for Kaito’s future safety. Kaito should probably figure out a way for this to not happen in the event that he’s actually mugged.

“Kudou?” he says, bewildered.

“Kuroba,” Shinichi wheezes. He’s sweaty and red-faced, bent over to clutch at his knees in the international gesture of out-of-breath people everywhere, and he’s clutching his phone in one hand. He must’ve full-on sprinted after Kaito. “Kuroba, are you in love with me?”

What?

“What?” Kaito says, then, “How did you know? Did Aoko tell you?” like a dumbass.

Shinichi holds up his phone. On it, Kaito can see a copy of the text he sent earlier, with the attached memo open. If he squints, he can read it.

 _I’m Kudou Shinichi,_ it begins. _I’m an amateur homicide detective and part-time actor, as well as a fourth-year criminal justice major. I play the violin, and I like Detective Samonji and the Tokyo Spirits and long stays at haunted ski resorts, where I will wear turtlenecks and make you cry with how I manage to be both hot and cute at the same time. I also don’t know how to cook and steal blankets, which are character traits that would be annoying if I wasn’t as adorable as I am. Somehow, it cancels out. I like whipped cream in my coffee and I wear hats with animal ears on them and I wanted to be a chinchilla as a child. I also do this thing when I’m annoyed where I squint like a pissed-off cat, which is funny because I’m actually allergic to cats but I’ll go to cat cafes because I’m too awkward to admit it. Ugh I am definitely in love with Shinichi._

Kaito recounts the previous night. Okay, so maybe he had a full bottle of wine rather than a half-bottle, and maybe he started downing it before he even started writing, rather than during the last quarter. He winces.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said that you were in love with yourself,” he says. “You can cut that part out if you decide to use it, I guess.”

Shinichi, who’s caught his breath in the time it took Kaito to read it, gives him the annoyed-cat look and, before Kaito can as him what’s wrong, steps forward so he can yank Kaito forward into a kiss. Kaito wasn’t expecting it, so his neck gets wrenched with the movement, and his mouth is partially open, so the kiss lands half on his upper teeth. He can smell Shinichi’s shampoo now—something like an apple orchard, rather than his usual orangey scent—and he can feel the scratchy brush of Shinichi’s scarf against his own throat. It’s the superlative moment. Nothing will ever be better than it.

He stares when Shinichi pulls back.

“Oh,” he says. Honestly, he’s surprised he managed even that, with how his brain is basically one giant blue screen of death at the moment. But, like, a good blue screen of death.

Shinichi is pink in the cheeks now.

“When you asked me if I was part of the ‘Kuroba Kaito Protection Squad,’” he says, then pauses and goes even pinker before he bravely forges on, “I am. I ran for secretary. Someone beat me, though. My campaign posters were apparently not convincing enough.”

“What,” Kaito says, then shakes himself. “ _What_?”

“It’s possible… that Ran… might have set this up… because she was sick of hearing about my crush,” Shinichi says, cagey.

“Oh,” says Kaito again, more faintly. When Shinichi gives him a panicked look, he gives a hysterical little laugh and pulls him closer, since that’s a thing he’s probably allowed to do now. Shinichi goes with it, letting Kaito pull down his scarf so he can kiss the corner of Shinichi’s mouth. It’s curled up into a hopeful smile when Kaito moves back. “I’m glad she did. Actually, the only reason why I was going to try to cut contact and move on was because Aoko and Hakuba pointed out that I had really obvious feelings for you, which were kind of inappropriate considering I was supposed to be writing a dating profile for you.”

“I like your feelings for me,” says Shinichi, looking earnest. Kaito has to kiss him again for that, and again when Shinichi lets out a little sigh of satisfaction, and again when Shinichi’s hands come to clutch at the back of his jacket, and again when Shinichi slips his tongue into Kaito’s mouth. In fact, he only pulls away when a car whizzes past, honking in what seems like support, judging from the way the driver rolls down the window to shoot them a thumbs up as they go by.

“Your place or mine?” Kaito asks, grinning.

“We’re closer to yours,” Shinichi points out before he leans in until his mouth is right by Kaito’s ear and whispers, low and suggestive, “I’m wearing a turtleneck under this coat, by the way.”

Yeah, Kaito is definitely in love with him.

**Author's Note:**

> [catch me on twitter! ](https://twitter.com/lunarscaped)


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